More Than One Way
by LovesAngst
Summary: They say there is more than one way to skin a cat. Gaius finds that in order to save his dear Merlin's life, he must risk it. Will prince Arthur learn just how much he cares for Merlin as his dying friend's life hangs undecided?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Author's note…

Greetings all! This little fic is an alternate version of the events in one of my older ones (For the Want of a Nail). Thank you for reading. Reviews feed me.

Not one whit.

Gaius did not care one whit that it was a fine fall morning in Camelot.

"Merlin. You are sick. You have been sick for a month, at least." He raised a hand to keep the warlock from interrupting, "You are not getting better, no matter what you try and pretend. How can you even consider a hunting expedition?"

His foolish ward gazed unsteadily into the droopy pack at his feet. The boy looked ghastly, hunched at the breakfast table. Limp as his empty bag.

"I have to. You know I have to." Merlin's voice was quiet but determined. "If you want to help, tell me what to pack, my brain hurts." Merlin mumbled.

"You do not have to, that's what I am telling you. I am the physician and if I say you are sick, Arthur will understand." Well, the prince likely would not understand, but at least he would listen Gaius hoped.

"No," Merlin stood "you know Arthur. He'd probably pick today to get himself captured by bandits, roasted by some magical creature, or arrowshot by a drunken hunter. I'm alright, really. Just help me pack a few things. Please?"

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Gaius had been right.

It was no surprise to Merlin. His adoptive father was right more often than not. Although it had been a lovey morning, the afternoon had been horrible. His chest ached miserably and he'd coughed his throat so raw, he tasted blood. He would consider himself lucky if he managed not to vomit a great bloody mess onto his boots.

Sweat crawled coldly between his shoulder blades and Merlin promised himself that next time he'd take Gaius' advice. But he knew he wouldn't.

Gods. He felt like death.

At least he'd managed to ensure the hunt was unsuccessful. With his constant hacking, he hadn't even had to resort to magic. He had no urge whatsoever to add fowl and game to the already unwieldy pack of supplies he'd been allotted to haul about. The damnable load seemed to grow heavier with each step. Yes, he was definitely sick.

Even better, the ungodly cold rain that had made them turn for home hours ago had changed to heavy wet snow. Fantastic.

One foot in front of the other Merlin. That's all he had to do.

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He was drawn momentarily from his bout of self-pity by a surprised squawk from Gwaine. He couldn't help but laugh. His mate was still covered by the remnants of someone's well aimed snow missile. With series of warbling cries and guffaws, a volley of snow and slush whooshed overhead. He normally would have joined in, but not today—he knew beyond a doubt that if he put down his pack he'd be too tired to get it back on again.

Merlin found himself plenty occupied just trying to keep his feet.

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Smiling at his motley crew, Arthur finally spotted something worth hunting, a bush bristling with fat pigeons. Just as he held up his hand to get the attention of his troop, his ungainly manservant was pelted with a snowball and with a bitten off yell went down in a loud heap.

The birds were off in a heartbeat.

"Merlin! Have I ever told you that you are the worst servant I've ever had?"

With his typical good humor the boy righted himself. "Yes, I believe you have sire, but never hurts to hear it again."

Then Merlin was back to hacking and coughing fit to break. Arthur went back to pretending he hadn't noticed. What was the point calling attention to his weakness? There was nothing to be done for it but head home and they were already nearly there.

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Arthur's morning fire had long since grown cold—the place was freezing. Merlin's sweat- and snow-soaked clothes were icy and made him jump whenever they brushed his hot skin. Cold and wet. Gaius was going to have his head.

"Cold as a witch's heart!" Arthur noted. How he'd know that was beyond Merlin, Arthur looked pretty snug bundled into his warmest cloak.

"Merlin, catch."

As he turned from his task at the hearth, a cloak dropped unceremoniously over his head.

"I see the cold hasn't improved your coordination Merlin." Arthur laughed.

"It hasn't improved your manners either I dare say" Merlin quipped. Arthur might be a true arse, but the cloak felt wonderful and he gratefully pulled it around him, shuddering. "I'm keeping this tonight Arthur."

"Fine."

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Before long, he had the fire roaring.

As Arthur gazed into his wine, Merlin sat on his haunches, warming his hands by the fire and trying to slow his noisy breathing. "It's not my fault you know. The pigeons. Leon threw an ice ball at me."

Arthur smiled "Yes, yes, clearly the decorated knight of Camelot is responsible for the world's clumsiest servant slipping for what must be the hundredth time."

"Yup." Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the prince. He looked to be drying out pretty well. His eyes drooped like a great sleepy toddler that didn't want to miss anything. What would come next he figured was the prince pretending to be magnanimous as all hades by sending Merlin on his way when really, Arthur just wanted to get to sleep.

"Nonetheless, that was quite the day. Merlin, why don't you call it a night early?"

"You're sure sire?" He was in no rush to get home and wanted to sit by the fire a few minutes more. Cold, cold, and more cold. He hated it.

"Of course I'm sure, you're soaked, go home Merlin."

"Thanks then, goodnight." He headed for the door.

"Night Merlin." Just as he'd rounded the bend, Arthur bellowed him back.

"Sire?"

"Can you stop at the kennel and make sure the hounds are covered? It's bloody freezing."

No shit it is freezing. "Of course, good night."

"Wait! Merlin?'

Merlin poked his head around the corner yet again "Yes…" Though he was in no particular rush, all this back and forth was making him dizzy and he struggled to keep a sarcastic quip in. Maybe it would be good to get home and lie down for a piece.

Arthur was smiling "Goodnight Merlin."

He stood, dripping wet, trying madly not to cough, tasting blood in his mouth and he couldn't for the life of him stay annoyed with Arthur. "Goodnight Arthur."

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Gaius breathed a sigh of relief. The breath-cloud hung above his face before slowly rising to the roof.

Merlin was home. The boy's coughing rang out clear in the dark cold air.

He snuck one shaky hand out from under his blanket and pulled his sleeping cap down farther. With an old-man huff that reminded Gaius of his own grandfather, he rolled stiffly towards the wall and tried to go back to sleep.

Although Gaius never really had futuresight, certainly not like Morgana, on very rare occasions he found himself standing on the edge of slumber and looking out not across the darkness of sleep, but into one potential future.

Scared the pants off him every time and this night was no different. He was assaulted by a nightmare vision.

Merlin.

Merlin was sicker than Gaius had ever seen him. Deathly ill.

Gaius was awake. He was asleep. Trapped. Before his closed eyes, Gwen hovered over a motionless Merlin. His dear boy was white as snow.

Arthur stormed into the room calling out in pure fear. "Is he…" although ghost Arthur couldn't continue, his question was plain to Gaius. Is he dead? Is Merlin dead?

No! Gaius' yelled. No one heard him because he wasn't there.

Gwen's spirit went on, speaking to an anxious-looking Arthur. "He is resting sire." She tenderly touched her cloth to Merlin's mouth. "But…Gaius is no longer able to wake him m' lord."

His head filled with wheezing, gasping, dying breaths.

Real Merlin?

Future Merlin?

Both?

Gaius knew not.

As he struggled to wake himself from the nightmare vision, he last saw Arthur. The prince sat at Merlin's bed (deathbed, Gaius' fear whispered). Arthur shook his head roughly; his eyes were red with tears that refused to fall. With his thumb, Arthur touched a bead of blood from the corner of his charge's dry lips. Gaius' heart broke as Arthur tenderly placed his hand on Merlin's hitching chest.

The ghostly prince's features began to crumple and his breath to catch.

Thank you for reading! Review…please?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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Gaius' heart broke as the Arthur in his vision tenderly placed his hand on Merlin's hitching chest. The ghostly prince's features began to crumple and his breath to catch.

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With his own great hitching gasp, Gaius bolted from his bed.

Merlin!

Mindless of the freezing stones beneath his feet he gathered his blanket, rough in his desperate hands and charged towards his dear boy's room. The image wouldn't leave him—Arthur's hand on Merlin's failing chest.

No, no, no. Please gods.

In the thin sliver of blue moonlight, Merlin looked as white as he had in Gaius' vision. His stumbling, racing arrival half-woke the boy and he mumbled something about night before his voice was carried away barking and wheezing.

Gaius tried to sound quiet and calm despite the clenching deep in his chest.

"Shh. Shh, Merlin all is well. It's nothing m'boy, I just don't like the sound of that cough."

Merlin's hands were freezing and his clothes wet. Gaius set to tucking him in with his own blanket; it was pitiful and couldn't possibly warm the boy quickly enough. Their rooms were so bloody cold. Gaius cursed himself for saving coin by skimping on wood. And candles. Even food. The problem is, he realized, glancing around for something more to cover his boy with, I can't get blood from a stone.

He simply had no silver to buy those luxuries with.

With a half-sigh of relief, he spotted an older style cloak tossed over Merlin's chair. Thanks the gods. It had hidden in the dark and Gaius quickly tucked it over the bed.

Merlin's breath continued to rasp unevenly, too-small plumes of steam puffing from his parted mouth.

His vision hadn't happened. Yet.

He pushed the thought away and rushed to the front room.

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They needed a fire and they needed it now but the wood bin had been empty for days upon end. The small bit of salary Gaius received as court physician was just not enough to support himself and Merlin.

Quiet coughing from behind him brought Gaius back to the moment. In the cold, still, dark his eyes roved his possessions, the tools of his trade. They'd taken a lifetime to collect.

No matter. With shaking hands he grabbed anything that would burn. A wooden bowl, a charger, rags, parchment, wooden spoons, cups. The small fire added a measure of light, and hope, to the room. In went a book, bundles of grasses, herbs. Looking with fear towards Merlin's room he pressed the whole herb collecting basket into the hungry flames.

Hotter!

He needed the fire to be hotter and to last the night.

Gaius' eyes fell on the little three legged work stool by the door and his heart stuttered again.

He could almost see the Arthur of his vision sitting on it—grief written in hunch of his regal shoulders.

He knew that he was being rash, in a tizzy. It mattered not. Racing to the tainted stool he brought it to the hearth and set to smashing the offending item on the mantle. As the large bits of real wood began to catch, he felt his pulse slow. Finally, the fire roared, lighting a long swath of room, fed by the ancient wood.

A cough rang from Merlin's doorway. There was his good boy, wrapped in the pile of blankets and cape, with his typical crooked smile. "Yeah, I've always hated that stool too." Merlin quipped.

"Merlin. Good boy, come out here, sit by the fire. I'm making tea. And bread."

His ward's ridiculous grin grew, incongruous with his shaking body and pale face. "You know it's the middle of the night, right?"

"Yes. Sit." He pointed to his own favourite chair, bathed in the flickering warmth and light.

"Alright, alright. Keep your pants on." He pulled the chair as close as he could get without setting his stocking feet ablaze. Pure joy crossed his young features. "Feels good Gaius. But really, what's going on?"

If only you knew my boy. Instead of answering, Gaius set about filling the pot to boil. It had been far too long since they had a fire for tea.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Merlin asked.

"Yes." Well, he sort of did. "Yes I did. Will you sit with me?"

"Oh course." Merlin looked as if he'd more to say, but was cut off with a great whooping cough. Gaius did not miss how very much blood stained the rag Merlin held to his mouth.

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Quietly they drink their blessedly hot tea and ate thick triangles of bread and cheese. No need for the boy to know that in just a few minutes they'd eaten that which had been meant to last them two days.

It didn't matter.

Getting Merlin warm and fed tonight was all that mattered. A seemingly endless supply of bloody rags came out from under Merlin's cocoon to catch his terrible coughs. Anger burned in his veins.

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As much as he respected Arthur and knew the boy to be a better man than his father, Gaius would make the prince suffer beyond measure if Merlin died. He worked Merlin like a dog, treated him terribly at times. And had not provided the boy so much as a coin, a log, a meal, or a skin of wine. It was no wonder they had needed to skimp.

It was no wonder Merlin was ill.

Worse.

"You've pneumonia Merlin. You know that right?"

Merlin simply nodded into the fire, shrugging the comment off as a horse shrugs out of its bridle.

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Merlin did indeed know he had pneumonia. He also knew full well that no matter how bad Gaius made himself feel about it, there was nothing to be done. Not everything could be fixed with magic.

He wondered if perhaps his too-loud coughing was what had really spurred this late night meal. Probably.

He hated to think how Gaius had sacrificed for him. Sitting across from him, dressed in his warmest, Gaius looked…timeworn. The old man was nearly translucent; the shadow of his mug crossing his face appeared as real as Gaius himself.

"How are you feeling? The truth now Merlin."

Best be straight, Gaius would never believe anything less.

"Honestly? Not that well these past days. But you know, the fire, the tea, the mid-night snack—I really am feeling better than I have in a week." He felt tired beyond measure, but a good, warm tired. "I'm partway glad you had a bad dream. That's all it was? A bad dream?"

Something crossed the physician's face and was gone "Yes, yes Merlin. Now, lay down right there by the fire so we don't waste the heat. Sleep for a while. I'll wake you in a piece."

That sounded like an excellent idea.

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His good boy slept fitfully at the hearth, Gaius could see his young bones sticking through all three layers of cloth. All narrow hips and shoulders. The firelight flickered off his sunken face. And his breathing. Well.

Gaius pressed his fingers hard into his eyes. He'd thought through every plan he could, weighed every option, considered every factor.

He just could not think of a way Merlin could possibly survive until spring. If he could just get the boy through until spring, he could gather food. Wouldn't need wood.

If he stopped eating, and somehow managed to hide it from the whip-quick Merlin, even then the boy would still need wood. Merlin wouldn't outlast him long. He'd thought about getting him back home to his mother but hot tears leaked down his cooling cheeks as he realized that she'd not likely have much more that they did. And he'd not make the travel. It seemed that no matter how he planned, Merlin was not going to live until spring.

Neither of them would.

Gaius selfishly hoped he went first.

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After his tears had long since dried, Gaius realized that, without truly meaning to, he'd concocted a plan. A desperate, cruel, and foolish plan.

The plan of a man with nothing to loose.

Creaking with age, he levered himself out of his chair. He lit a taper from the low fire and moved to his potions. Pushing aside those he used each day, Gaius reached far to the back of his shelf. There, in the grit and spider webs were the poisons he'd need.

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Thank you for reading and reviewing…I'll try and keep the updates coming!

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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There, in the grit and spider webs were the poisons he'd need.

He slowly pulled the phials forward. Their contents seemed to suck the little light there was from the room. Though he was warmer than he'd been since summer, Gaius shuddered.

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Gaius measured and titrated and measured again. He mixed, he watered, he boiled.

With hope against all hope, he prayed these mixtures were right. Each was dangerous on its own, let alone together. Dangerous to a strong and healthy man, let alone the skinny boy who lay shaking and coughing at the edge of the now-cold hearth.

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"Last chance to change your mind you crazy old coot" he whispered, holding first one phial, then the other up to the morning light. As if he might somehow make this alright.

It was not.

The first draught looked far more innocent that it should have. Like water with a drop of milk.

Venom.

He'd weakened it of course, but that didn't change the fact that this innocuous-looking solution caused throat closing. Throat closing. And death if it was even a touch too strong.

Couldn't forget the death part.

The other phial was sickly green. Like the innards of an insect, smashed underfoot against the hard stones. It was a strong sleeping draught, his very strongest. Gaius had never used the draught with any person other than those he had cause to do surgery upon. Many of them died—but, he hoped, it may have been their original condition that killed them. There was no way to know.

He had to be so very careful. A bedeviling, wincing, cramp of fear settled on his face and across his old shoulders. He wiped his damp palms over and over against his harsh woolen robes. If either dose was wrong he could end up causing the death he so desperately sought to avoid. Nonetheless, it was time.

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"Merlin, up. Up my boy." Gaius reached down to help heave the blanket covered bump from the frigid stones. The last of the wood hadn't gone very far. Merlin looked dazed and confused. Being waken and dragged from his room in the middle of the night may have contributed. Oh, and being a hair from death.

"Wha? Gaius?" Oh yes, the boy was definitely confused.

"Come into your room now Merlin."

Gaius hoped that the young warlock was out of sorts enough that he'd not notice the sun was well up. Merlin had easily missed all his early morning chores. Arthur would soon be as angry as a hornet in a sock. The poor boy, he was sick.

Each cough shook his whole bony frame.

"Isn't it time to get up?" Merlin coughed out.

"No, no, my boy. You've only just lain by the fire a moment."

Tugging Merlin by the elbow, he led him back into his room. Gaius gently pressed him down until he sat with a creak on his little bed.

"Are you sure? The light…"

Now. Just do it his mind commanded. "Merlin. Do you trust me?"

His ward nodded "Of course. Completely."

"Good." He concentrated hard on keeping his hand from shaking, shaking or flinging the abominations away. He managed to rein himself in and held out the first phial. "Drink this Merlin, it's for your chest, and lay down." Merlin's confused face sent bolts of guilt shooting through him and the glass twitched hard in his grasp. "Actually, get right into bed first."

In a moment, they gotten Merlin's legs tucked in. He sat obediently awaiting his medicine. "Ready. Mayhap I won't have to work today? A lay in day perhaps?"

"Mayhap Merlin."

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In the blink of an eye, Merlin had belted back the watered venom.

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"Gagh. That's foul Gaius."

"It's not supposed to taste good Merlin, it is medicine." Please. Please. Gaius begged the powers of the heavens and earth. Please let me have made the right decision.

"Well then, it must be amazing. Revolting."

Seconds ticked by, thumps of Gaius' hoary heart. At first, Merlin continued on as he'd been.

Mildly confused and clearly disgusted.

Then the confusion increased, his hand tentatively touching his collar. Merlin's throat worked and worked. He'd be having trouble swallowing by now. His mouth would be numb. Gaius felt like crying—who knew, maybe he was. He put a hand out to steady his dear as the confusion on his face was replaced with something else.

Alarm.

Merlin's breathing was becoming wheezy and fast. "Gaius?"

"It's alright Merlin, everything is alright." His poor dear boy looked frightened. Desperate. His hand groped more insistently at his neck.

He had to press on, if only to erase the gathering panic, clear on Merlin's face.

"Drink this Merlin, it will help."

Merlin grabbed for the second flask, he'd have been desperate for a drink, desperate to swallow down whatever strangled him. Gaius hadn't accounted for getting his dear boy to swallow the sleeping draught whist he was choking and retching—while his throat closed around the very potion meant to deliver oblivion.

Merlin was gasping and spluttering, the green liquid running down his chin, as Gaius finally pulled the boy's dark head back, tight to his own shoulder and forced the last dregs into him. He held his hand firmly over Merlin's mouth and nose until he could be sure the boy had swallowed. Gaius burned with shame but he couldn't let the frantic boy know anything was wrong. He couldn't bear the idea that Merlin's last conscious moments would be filled with fear. "Shh. Shh my boy. Don't be afraid. It's alright."

"Gaius," Merlin wheezed, gasping another mouthful of precious air "something's wrong."

Merlin's hand fell slack. He was already tipping onto the bed as Gaius eased him down taking Merlin's cold, still hand into his own.

"Shh. It's alright. Everything will be better when you wake." He hoped this was true.

Gaius head whipped away from the unconscious, wheezing boy. The strident ruckus filtering through the sliver of a window was one he'd heard many times in the past.

Thumping boots, creaking leather, jingling mail, angry voices. Gaius knew the sound of Arthur—having dressed himself, running behind, hungry, angry, and looking to browbeat his ever-suffering servant.

"Not today sire. Not today."

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Thank you for your reviews so far…I cherish each one! More please? Please?


	4. Chapter 4

Gaius knew the sound of Arthur—having dressed himself, running behind, hungry, angry, and looking to browbeat his ever-suffering servant.

"Not today sire. Not today."

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Gaius launched into action. "Sorry m'boy. This is for your own good."

He quickly stripped Merlin of his jerkin and undershirt, tugging them roughly up and over the boy's limp body. Gods. He could see everyone of Merlin's bones poking under his pale flesh. Like fence posts beneath the snow. He should have been watching the boy more closely—even Gaius—royal flaming physician—had underestimated how badly Merlin was doing. Why hadn't he examined him properly before? Mayhap because there was nothing he could have done either way.

Merlin's breath was far more labored than he had expected. Gods, he hoped Merlin was getting enough air. As he moved Merlin about, he worried. Even unconscious the warlock should have had more muscle tone, he was unnaturally limp.

Pulling the covers down to the boy's bony hips and leaving his frightening chest bare, Gaius let Merlin's arm droop from the bed. Bony knuckles brushed the floor. He stuffed Merlin's bloody rag into his hand for good measure. The scene was set.

"I know you believe in Arthur boy. I do too, at times. But I'm not willing to wait until it's too late for him to realize he has responsibilities. I'll not sacrifice you to teach him a lesson."

Gaius silently hoped he hadn't already sacrificed Merlin. The confidence he'd had that he could predict the potions' effects was quickly disappearing. The boy he loved was failing before his eyes.

What if there was no way to change the future? If what he saw between waking and sleep would come to pass no matter what he did?

Quickly and quietly, he left the dim room. Closing the door silently, he rushed to his work bench and busied himself cleaning potion bottles. The fire had been out for hours and the room was damn cold again.

Good. Let the prince see how Merlin lives.

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A second later the banging of Arthur's leather-wrapped fist on the door nearly made Gaius growl. That young man could even make a knock seem rude.

"Come."

Arthur was grumbling something angrily to the guard behind him. He shoved his sword and chest plate at the man and sent him scurrying to the practice field. In a fine temper today.

In the cold morning light, Arthur looked more like his father than ever before. Hard and angry. Even his stance—his helmet hanging loosely from his fist, chin up, chest out, jaw tight—was demanding.

It was the look that made men fawn to please him and caused maidens' skirts fall off.

Arthur had sent his servant—his loyal servant who just happened to be into his second month with pneumonia—home wet, cold, tired, and unfed. Sent him to a home where the royal bloody prince had not provided one stick of kindling, not a scrap of cloth, not a chicken, hare, or loaf of bread.

Sent him home to die, if it weren't for Gaius' vision and impromptu bonfire.

Yet, there he stood. Arrogant and angry.

The little fuck. 

Swallowing his gall and fear, sadness and fatigue, Gaius asked "Sire? Can I do something for you? Are you ill?" The words burned.

Arthur ranted angrily about his good-for-nothing manservant who had not shown up for work this morning. Blathered about having to dress himself and miss breakfast. Now he'd have to train the knights and calculate grain stores all morning on an empty stomach.

Despite his childish and whiny rant, Gaius felt himself soften to the boy. He really did carry the weight of an entire kingdom on his young back. And Gaius had seen, in his vision, really seen the prince near-to-breaking. Over Merlin. They had that in common.

"…and" Arthur rambled on "I'm already late."

"Sire. I'm sorry to hear all the trouble you've had already this morning. I'd no idea Merlin slept in, I thought he'd been up early and gone to you long ago m'lord." Gaius lied.

"Not your fault Gaius that Merlin cannot be counted on. Well, I'll have him out of the way for you in a moment. The stocks perhaps!" with that, Arthur turned to the narrow door leading to the warlock's room and bellowed "Merlin! Get your lazy ass up!"

With more stomping than absolutely necessary, Arthur headed for his manservant "One late night and he thinks he can just lay in? Merlin?!"

Gaius heard and felt the little door shoved open with an angry bash.

I'm sorry Arthur, Gaius thought, breath held.

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Silence followed silence.

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Just as Gaius wondered if he'd better not go check, he heard Arthur's hoarse and panicked voice. "Merlin?"

A moment later, the clang of a dropped helmet rang out, then the clunk of armoured knees falling heavily to the frozen dirt of Merlin's floor.

"Gaius!" Arthur bleated; his voice had become high and strident.

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From the door frame where Gaius stood, Arthur looked like a penitent. The prince kneelt heavily at Merlin's bed, in the one thin shaft of light the room afforded. His livery cape puddled around him.

"Gaius! Help me!"

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Though Gaius had planned to make a show of checking Merlin, he found himself really examining the boy. He called him and shook his shoulder, hoping for some sign of awareness. Praying for some sign the sleeping draught was beginning to weaken. Gaius carefully listened to the dear boy's lungs and heart. Ran his hands over Merlin's hard frame.

The potions he'd administered were having a much stronger effect than he'd hoped. Merlin's malnutrition and illness themselves were also worse than he'd imagined.

The weedy, rasping breaths of a man being slowly hung filled the silence.

Unable, it seemed, to wait for Gaius' pronouncement; Arthur roughly yanked a glove off with his teeth and pressed his tan fingers, hard, to Merlin's blue-white wrist. Relief exhaled from him. A Pulse.

"What's going on Gaius? What's wrong with him?" Arthur demanded.

Gaius gently lifted Merlin's frighteningly cold arm, placing it over his chest then pulled the little blanket up to the boy's chin.

"Oh my dear boy." The wobble in his voice was real. He remembered his own terror the night before, and the fact that his dear boy was dying. Worse yet was the responsibility that hung heavy over Gaius' head—Merlin was barely breathing. He may very well have killed his dear boy himself. This was not how it was supposed to be.

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"Pneumonia. Merlin has pneumonia sire."

As if to punctuate his point, Merlin fell silent for a frightening moment before picking back up with a gasp.

Still on his knees while Gaius perched on the mattress edge, Merlin's young master didn't seem to know what to say. Or what to do with his hands either. Somehow Merlin's bloody rag had found its way into one of Arthur's fists.

Those strong young hands reached towards Merlin's shoulder before being pulled back to Arthur's own chest. He finally settled on clenching them on the worn wood of the bed frame.

"But. But, I don't understand."

"Sire. Merlin is very sick." The guilt that crossed Arthur's face softened Gaius yet another degree. "But you knew that."

And there was the rub. Somewhere in the prince's mind he damn well knew that Gaius' dear boy had pneumonia. Arthur was no fool. And yet. And yet he'd kept pressing the boy, kept working him.

Arthur, it seemed, had no answer to give and instead toppled from his knees to his rear. One hand covered his mouth.

"You might have told him to come home to me days ago, Arthur." The prince's eyes never left Merlin but he gave a jerky nod of his head. "You knew, but you need him. Need him in many ways. I do understand that sire."

Arthur finally gave in and with the hand he did not have clamped over his trembling jaw, he reached out and touched Merlin's tight and heaving chest. The rag had disappeared into a fold of the prince's tunic.

"But you can make him better Gaius. Right?"

"Stay here sire, I will fetch you a chair."

Each boy grew paler by the second.

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Thank you so much for your reviews! Again please


	5. Chapter 5

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Arthur's mouth was dry and his armpits were stinging with sweat.

Afraid.

For a moment there he'd been bloody well afraid.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he turned back to his servant. His friend. Back to the ghostly face and faintly blue lips. Merlin's hair looked blacker than night against his cold white forehead. As a crow perched on a marble tomb.

"Merlin?"

Merlin's breathing was terribly uneven and laboured. Oh, and he was unconscious. Gods. Arthur wracked his mind for a hint as to what had happened. Something made his illness far worse. Pneumonia was bad enough.

He'd lost men that way. In the past.

He'd been to their pyres.

He'd spoken to their families.

Stop. Stop thinking like that. I'll not lose Merlin. Surely. The boy was strong and tough. Wiry. But even the strong, the tough, and the wiry, die.

Something else was wrong, Arthur knew it. Arthur didn't know if he'd ever seen someone so frighteningly thin. He had to see again. Arthur was surprised when it took two tries to lever himself back onto his knees. The world, and he within it, moved in slowed motion.

Not wanting to make Merlin any colder, but needing to bear witness, he carefully drew the cover back. Slow as a man in a dream. Merlin's chest moved sluggishly with a great yawning break between breaths.

Stick-thin.

He couldn't believe this was the same man who he had pummeled with the practice sword the day before last. Who he'd laughed at when he went down wheezing after less than a half-dozen blows. It had seemed good fun at the time. Just a tease.

The bruises on Merlin's collar bone and upper arms were ones he had put there.

Dear Camelot.

What if Merlin—his mind balked at the thought—what if his best mate passed on, died, covered in bruises Arthur had given him? Swallowing his bile he felt a drowning sense of unworthiness, guilt. Arthur's ears buzzed and his eyes blurred.

"Sire. A chair for you." Gaius offered.

Together, they heaved him from the cold floor, his legs having gone strangely mushy and unresponsive.

Gaius carefully covered his ward again. "Yours m'lord?"

Arthur felt as though he were in a bad dream. "What?"

Gaius caught his eye and made sure Arthur was listening "This brown cloak Arthur. Is it yours?"

"Yes."

"Thank you sire." Gaius said softly, the way he stroked Merlin's head made Arthur want to run from the room. Made him want to hide. To scream. "I believe your cloak is the reason Merlin is alive this morning Arthur. The way he survived the night."

With a start Arthur realized how bloody cold the room was. "Gaius! Merlin, he is freezing. We must get him to the fire."

The look on the physician's face was not nearly as unreadable as he likely thought it. Something was obviously wrong. "Gaius. Why is it so cold? Why is there no fire?"

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He'd explained to the prince how the fire box had been empty since fall. Arthur's face told him that the conversation about that was far from over.

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In an instant, the young man had bolted to his feet and crashed into the front room yelling for a guard. Yelling for anyone who would listen. Screaming for wood and fire, immediately. For blankets.

Arthur must have been satisfied that fire was on the way as he swooped back into the room where Gaius had been holding Merlin's frighteningly cold and still hand. He wasn't doing well.

The prince's gaze darted around the room as though there was something there that could help. Something Gaius hadn't already thought of. The poor fellow looked positively stricken and he raked his hands helplessly through his already-messy hair.

"Sire. There's nothing…" Gaius found himself unable to speak and swallowed hard. "There's nothing you can do."

"I refuse to believe that." Arthur's face twisted as though he had a strong cramp. "Fire is coming. We just need to get Merlin warm." In jerky movements, Arthur pulled off his mail and his gorget, they jangled to the floor atop Merlin's travelling sack. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrenched his chest plate off, tugging his red jerkin back into place.

He blew into his hands, rubbing them vigorously and Arthur captured up Merlin's hand, working to warm that small bit of flesh. More blowing, more rubbing.

For all Arthur's intention and effort, Gaius could see Merlin was worsening fast. His head sagged, pink-tinged spittle drooling from the corner of his dry lips. And in the ever-longer spaces between his breaths, Merlin began to twitch. Not enough air. He knew the poor dear's heart could not keep going like this indefinitely.

Arthur must have known it to. As a long breathless silence dragged on, as Merlin's arm stiffened and began to quiver the prince shook his head, touching his fingers to his eyelids. The young man was clearly striving to maintain some sense of composure.

With a clumsiness and hesitation that was painful to watch, Arthur reached down and slid his arms under Merlin's back. He paused for a moment and, with a look of decisiveness, the prince pulled his servant up to a sitting position, holding Merlin to his chest awkwardly.

"Breathe Merlin." Arthur said quietly, without panic. He jostled the still-silent boy as one might do with a colicky infant. "Come on now Merlin" Arthur's voice broke "just breathe." Gaius held his own breath. Please, please boy.

Merlin breathed. Gaius breathed. Arthur breathed.

Relief rolled off the prince like a fevered heat and he pulled Merlin closer, nodding "That's it Merlin." Arthur praised. "Nothing complex about it. Just keep breathing and we'll have you warm in no time."

With a bit of wiggling, Arthur managed to wrestle Merlin's blankets off—wincing as his emaciated body came into view. Quickly he gathered the dying young man to himself more tightly. "There. Never fear Merlin. If I'm even half as hot headed as you tell me, this should help matters greatly."

Gaius felt his jaw drop. He'd never seen the like. Gone were the awkwardness and hesitation the marked Arthur's every movement but a minute ago. "Now. Gaius" Arthur commanded, pointing with his chin "wrap that whole mess of blankets around the both of us. Good and tight mind you." His tone was worried, desperate even, but also confidant. A knight knowing exactly what needed doing and was going to do just that. Fear driving action, instead of preventing it.

Once Gaius had Merlin well-enveloped in the prince's warmth, Arthur stood effortlessly.

Any resemblance to Uther that Gaius had thought he saw earlier was long gone. Arthur was just a man. A young, good, man. Upset beyond measure, yes, but soldiering on nonetheless.

Naught could be seen of Gaius' dear boy save for his limp stocking feet and a shock of unruly hair at Arthur's shoulder. He stared after them as the boys headed towards the commotion of fire-making coming from the hearth.

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A fire was set—raging in fact—but Gaius took no joy in it. No joy in the warmth.

His thoughts were cold.

Dark.

When he finally dragged his self-pitying eyes from his useless old hands he found himself gazing across the room. He'd been debating whether or not to try administering the venom antidote. A concoction as dangerous as the others. And he knew how well those had turned out.

The bed had been dragged up to the hearth and Merlin lain there. Arthur sat as close to the bed as he could get without actually being in it. The stool in Gaius' vision last night (had it only been last night?) was long gone so the prince had dragged a kitchen chair over. The young man's elbows were on his knees and his face was in his hands. With a loud sigh he dropped his hands, his worried eyes fixed on Merlin.

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The hope he'd felt as the room warmed, was fading fast. Arthur'd been sure that once Merlin warmed up, once he didn't feel so much like a corpse, that every time would be alright.

It wasn't. Aside from being warm, Merlin hadn't improved. All he could do was wait. Merlin's chest rose and fell. Usually. When his friend had to struggle too hard, Arthur moved to the bed, holding him up so he could catch a breath.

Merlin wasn't getting better. He didn't know what he would do if his servant, his closest friend, didn't recover.

Stop Arthur. Stop thinking that way, you'll do no one any good.

Merlin's breath was coming in more frantic, short, gasps than before. His thin chest juddering.

"Merlin?" Second nature now, Arthur shifted to the bed and pulled his sick friend into his arms, wiggling him up with his head tilted back some so he might breathe easier. "It's alright, just breathe slow." With one arm cradling Merlin he planted the other hand on his chest. He could feel the tight gasps, feel his lungs pulling for air. A strangled "gaa…gaa" he'd not heard before rose from Merlin frantically, then again.

"Gaius? Gaius, something's wrong."

Then, as if a rope had been twisted tight around Merlin's neck, even those wretched sounds of suffering and struggle were cut off completely.

Gods be damned! "Merlin! Come on now. Don't do this Merlin!"

No. Please no.

Merlin's chest was heaving—like a man at the end of the noose. Strangling, he's strangling. "Gaius!" Arthur was faintly aware that the old man was retrieving something from his shelves, glass rattled, something broke.

Merlin was jerking in Arthur's embrace. Merlin's arms contracted, bent at the elbow and flopping on his chest. His hips bucked. "Gods dammit Merlin!" The man in his arms was silent. The bed creaked and the blankets swished with his thrashing, but not a sound passed over Merlin's rictus lips. Over Arthur's arm, Merlin's head was thrown back as his body's last desperate need for air caused it too to jerk.

Merlin was dying.

The sudden warmth of Merlin's bladder releasing and the smell of piss assaulted him.

Though Arthur could not have imagined anything more awful, more awful came. The vicious tension in Merlin's body receded. His convulsion became erratic twitches, starting and stopping in fits. Arthur thought he was probably yelling, he couldn't hear right. He couldn't see past the watery blur that was his vision. With a weak thrust of his hips, Merlin's arms sagged where they lay and then stilled.

In his own quaking arms Arthur could feel Merlin literally fading away. He lolled, growing limper by the second. The room grew quiet, the bed was no longer creaking, and the blankets were hushed and silent. Arthur heard himself now over the crackling of the fire. "No no no no no."

As Merlin's head fell to the side, Arthur though his own heart might actually stop. He jostled his friend, propping Merlin's dark head against his chest before laying a hand to Merlin's naked chest. It was as still as stone.

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How could he have been so stupid?! Gaius could not believe his recklessness, how unprepared he'd been.

He raced, tripping and groping towards the bed.

No! No! Merlin, my boy please!

"Sire, his head, tip his head back!" The prince blinked owlishly up at Gaius. The young man's expression was caught between sorrow and shock. "Arthur, now!"

The antidote was as black and thick as the venom had been milky and fine. His desperate spell had been absorbed fully into the mixture and not a speck of light remained. Gaius' hands shook so badly he wasn't certain he'd be able to complete his task but he managed to pour half the phial into Merlin's gaping mouth. Too late, he realized that Merlin's esophagus was completely shut. The boy's mouth filled and flowed over, the sludge trickled down the side of his face.

Though he was trembling from shoulder to boot, Arthur's movements were gentle and careful as he lay Merlin's perfectly limp and still body back upon the bed. Gaius could not stopper up his ears and was torn, shredded as the prince begged. Begged Merlin to swallow. To breathe. To live.

Merlin was as still as death.

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Thank you again for reading and for your kind reviews…I'd love to hear what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

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A/N—Wow! Thank you for all your supportive reviews and comments, I really appreciate it! Now, on with the show…

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Merlin was as still as death.

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By Gaius' reckoning, Merlin hadn't a breath in well over a minute, probably getting close to two or three. The flickering firelight gave the impression of movement where there was none.

He'd only meant to help matters. There had seemed no other way. He'd only meant to scare Arthur. So that Merlin would never want for the basics again. So that Merlin could eat and recover. And live.

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Too strong. He'd made the potions too strong. The ones he had forced down the gullet of his ill, trusting, loving boy.

Gaius' chest clenched and his own throat closed as he looked on the wreck he had created.

Not unlike the set he'd staged for Arthur hours ago. Merlin lay sprawled on the bed, the blanket having fallen away. But now his naked ribcage did not heave. His raspy breath stopped up. Instead of blood, Gaius' black concoction drooled from his mouth.

A completely unexpected sob burst from Gaius' chest as he saw that the boy had wet himself. At the end.

Unable to stand another moment, the weight of his sin pressed Gaius to his knees.

He wondered how fast the venom would work on him. There was plenty left. He had no plan to soften his suffering with the sleeping draught, mind you. That was too good for him.

"Gaius!" Arthur had been brokenly yelling, he realized. Seconds had passed. Now the prince had hold of him by the shoulder and forced Gaius to look into his face.

Another wreck of Gaius' creation.

Arthur was white as a sheet, his eyes begged. His voice begged, Arthur forced Gaius to hear him "Gaius! Do something!"

With absolutely nothing to lose Gaius yanked the dagger from his belt and without pause slashed it hard and deep across Merlin's collar bone. Yes. Yes, that was the right spot. Near to the surface, large vessels, close to the heart and lungs.

With a strangled yell Arthur startled, pressing himself protectively in front of his manservant.

"Shush sire! Move!" Gaius would not be deterred. With the finality of an unlikely chance, he poured the very last of the thick black filth onto Merlin's open wound.

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Precious seconds continued to pass. Arthur's yelling had ground out and been replaced by choked and wordless sounds. The prince pawed at Merlin's wound, pressing his cloak roughly into the rising tide of blood.

Gaius knew that each moment increased the chance—a near surety by this point—that Merlin's mind and body would be irreparably damaged from the lack of air.

He'd known many a patient that had lost air in a fire, nearly drowned, choked on food or vomit. And those saved, last-minute, from the noose. It was as though part of their mind and body had died. Such people were destined to haul their own dead parts around for the rest of their shortened and painful lives. For a moment he thought he saw Merlin's future. Clumsy and slow, slurring his words, his left hand and arm a crippled talon at his side. Gaius closed his eyes. Mayhap it would be better for his poor boy to go on. To pass.

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A wheezing, spluttering gasp rose from the bed.

Gaius' eyes snapped open.

Like mud down a drain, the black liquid disappear from Merlin's mouth. Somehow, thanks be to the gods, he'd managed get enough of the potion into Merlin to open his breathing passage.

"He's breathing Gaius!" A startled sound, half laugh, half sob caught in the prince's throat, he pressed the fabric harder to Merlin's shoulder, his shaking hands covered in blood. "You've done it."

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They'd talked for hours at the kitchen table while Merlin slept at the fire. He'd had a double handful of visitors that, until only moments ago, had constantly occupied the bedside chair.

Arthur and the physician had talked about how Merlin was so ill, how it was impossible for him to get a leg up without proper clothes, fire, and food. A part of Arthur felt bad for Gaius, unable to provide adequately for his ward.

Gaius spoke at length and quite gravely about an ailment Merlin would likely experience when he awoke. Gaius called it 'brain damage' but as far as Arthur could tell this was a crippling of the body as much as the mind. It didn't matter. Arthur could really only focus on one point of the conversation. "He's mending though? Merlin is not dying?"

Rather than elated, as Arthur thought the old man ought to be, Gaius looked frustrated. "Merlin will not die today. Not from pneumonia. I'll burn everything I own and beg in the streets for food before I let that happen m'lord."

Arthur felt his breathing speed up, his pulse pounding in his ears. "But?"

Gaius slowly lowered his tea mug to the table. Lowered it as carefully as one who was trying mightily not to fling it with all his strength. The old man took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Arthur. Sire. You have seen him, seen how frail he is. Merlin is dying."

Oh. Still dying then. 

Arthur felt as though he couldn't get enough air. He took bigger and bigger breaths but felt no relief from the tightening in his chest. His ears are ringing and he knew himself to be hovering strangely on the edge of passing out.

How very unprincely. Funny that, since he'd broken down at his servant's bedside, he didn't think he could be any less of a man. Guess he'd been wrong.

His dizzy mind raced. How could this be? How unfair were the gods? Arthur was destined to lose Merlin? Again?

He didn't know that he could bear it.

The goofy young man had been there every time Arthur had needed him. Every time he needed a friend and advisor. Egging him on with that damnably bright smile.

With his fist pressed tight to his mouth, Arthur bit down on his knuckle. Hard. The race was on over which might come first, vomiting, fainting, or mayhap sobbing into his hands like an old man. He had to hold on. Hold together.

Gaius' voice gently pulled him back, "Sire? Arthur? Are you alright?"

No.

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your honesty Gaius. How long?"

"Sire?"

Was Gaius really going to make him say it? Had he not suffered enough for one fucking day? Gaius sat silently, waiting. Apparently Arthur'd not suffered quite enough.

Fine.

"You've said he is…" For a moment, words abandon him. Biting down again, harder, seemed to free his tongue up and the dreaded word spills out from behind his fist "dying. You've said he's dying. How long?"

"Oh, Arthur." Gaius looked sadly towards the little bed and the cheery fire as he went on. "I do not know. You know Merlin, he will want to stay with you, keep working, as long as he can. If nothing changes, the dear may well hold on until near spring."

"No." Arthur felt himself shaking, it felt like rage, but there was nowhere to direct it. Maybe this is what helplessness feels like. He refused to blink, refused to let his traitorous eyes spill.

"Arthur."

"No."

"Arthur."

With a quick swipe of his sleeve across the wetness that had escaped his eyes, Arthur fixed his gaze on Gaius. "What?"

"It doesn't have to be this way Arthur."

He waited, breath held.

"Sire. Merlin doesn't have to die."

"By the gods Gaius," Arthur felt his voice wheeze out, a mere whisper "you might have wanted to lead with that."

"I'm sorry Arthur. Truly." Gaius slid his hand across the rough wood of the tabletop, his frail and dry palm covered Arthur's hand. "Sire. There is no easy way to tell you this so I am just going to say it outright."

He felt his head nodding of its own accord as he whispered "Of course."

Gaius pursed his lips and then spoke plainly "Merlin, my good, good fine boy, my Merlin, he is starving Arthur. And it is because you are a poor master."

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Please review, it makes my entire day!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

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According to Gaius, Merlin was very lucky. He didn't feel very lucky but apparently having his brain not turn to soup was his mentor's definition of great fortune.

A pretty low bar it seemed.

Gaius had not let him out of bed for even an instant yet.

On one hand, he was dying to get up and see how his parts worked. On the other hand, he was petrified to get up and find out that he was even more crippled than he knew of. As such, he lay on his back by the fire.

Feigning sleep.

He'd really no desire to talk anyways. Everyone, including Gaius, wanted to either re-hash his illness and tell him just how badly he'd frightened them or try and cheer him.

Cheer me because I'm a cripple.

Oh sure, Gaius said he might regain some use of his arm, but really, what good was a servant with one arm? Or a physician's assistant? Or a warlock.

One more kind word or pitiful glance and he thought he'd throw up.

So, he pretended he was asleep.

And that was how he found himself listening to Arthur and Gaius blathering on about him as if he wasn't even there.

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He'd heard the door open and quietly close. The air moved and, after a moment, he felt someone standing silently over the bed. Watching him.

Arthur.

Merlin didn't need magic to feel Arthur's presence.

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"How is he Gaius?"

"Mending m'lord."

Merlin struggled to keep his face motionless.

"It is going to be a bit slow-going Arthur; the poor dear nearly lost his life. But, I don't suppose I have to tell you that."

"No, I don't suppose so."

Merlin wished he'd thought to tuck himself all the way under the covers. Maybe all the way up to his nose. He couldn't protect himself from the worry in Arthur's voice, but at least he could have hidden his injury. The weight of two sets of prying eyes washed over him. He could feel them staring at his stitched and bandaged neck. But mostly at his useless right arm. His damned hand was already pulling into a painful fist so Gaius had bound it to a splint to allow him some use of the fingers.

The urge to move was almost unbearable.

"Have you given your father's suggestion any thought?"

"What? Replace Merlin?"

His throat clenched. Well, here it is.

"Surely you are joking Gaius. Mortimer? Dear gods, the man is so slow the whole kingdom could be taken over before he'd gotten my armour on. And dull…" Arthur went on dramatically "the man is dull as dishwater. Worse! No, I'd sooner have half of Merlin than ten Mortimers."

"There are other servants to choose from, sire. I know you feel an obligation, but I do not believe Merlin would want to feel like a burden to you. An obligation only."

Merlin wasn't sure about that. At this point, he was pretty well willing to take what he could get.

"No. I'll not replace him Gaius. The topic is closed."

"You need to understand Arthur. Although I will certainly try my best, Merlin will always be badly restricted. There are certain injuries that just cannot be healed."

Behind the dark of his eyelids, Merlin felt a burning begin to threaten.

"What? That?" he heard Arthur snort derisively. Arthur certainly never snorted, and not ever about something so important.

"Yes that sire. For the gods' sakes, the poor boy's got one good arm! How's he to serve you properly?"

"His arm? That's nothing. A flesh wound."

Maybe Arthur didn't understand how seriously he'd been damaged by his illness?

"Gaius. Merlin was never a very good servant. Right? Right. Late. Lazy, clumsy. Falling alternately off of things and into others. Nowhere to be seen the moment danger arose."

Merlin idly wondered if he was supposed to be insulted.

"Sire. You can hardly blame…"

"No. I'm not finished Gaius." Arthur no longer sounded like he was joking, or making light of Merlin's misfortune. He could picture Arthur clearly, he knew exactly what the prince looked like when he got this way. Brow furrowed. Like as not, he'd be pulling a hand through his already mussed hair. "Merlin was only ever good at lazing about, running his mouth, criticizing his prince." Arthur cleared his throat and continued "And of course, the rather small matter of being a good and loyal friend." The dip in Arthur's voice warmed Merlin's chest and face.

"That is true Arthur."

"Well then," the prince commanded as if everything was already decided "there should be no discernable difference if he has two arms or one. No arms, now that would be a problem, I'd be hauling him to his feet any time he tripped, but one arm…one arm will be quite alright."

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Gaius had finally let him up and about. As it turned out, he appeared to be in good working order. Except his stupid, slow, and generally uncooperative arm. But, if it didn't bother Arthur, how could Merlin possibly let it bother him? Especially considering what disabilities he could have very well been left with.

He sat, relaxing, bundled in the beautiful red cloak Arthur had left for him. That had been a welcome surprise.

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Merlin must have dozed off as the icy blast of wind and banging open of the door gave him a start. Dressed for the weather, Arthur held the door, ushering in a small flurry of men bearing heavy baskets of food, flagons of wine, and load after load of good firewood.

In a blink, the servants were gone and the door shut tight against the evening chill.

He couldn't quite believe his eyes. "What's all this? Are you moving in with us sire?"

Arthur was looking at Merlin's now-vacant sick bed. For a moment, in the firelight, Arthur looked odd. Lost. As though he'd misplaced something. "Sire? Arthur?" Arthur's gaze slowly pulled from the bed to Merlin's face, for a moment he looked so truly sad that Merlin thought something may have happened.

Just talking had got Merlin hacking and wheezing again, but Gaius said that would go on for a fortnight at least. Coughing or not, he struggled to his feet and wobbled his way to his friend. "Arthur. Are you alright?"

Arthur's "yes" was a creaky little thing. He cleared his throat and started again. "Yes. I'm fine Merlin, just remembering something is all."

It took a moment for Merlin to figure out what had happened next. He was suddenly enveloped in cold air, fur, and strong arms.

An embrace.

An embrace from the perfectly-self-contained Prince Arthur? By the time he'd wrapped his brain around this Arthur had pulled back and held him out at arms' length. Getting a good look it seemed.

"Are you sure nothing is wrong Arthur?"

"Yes. It's, it's just good to see you on the mend Merlin."

He couldn't help but smile—despite the fact that he was still pretty well confused. "It seems you care after all."

"Don't count on it Merlin." The prince joked.

"But truly Arthur, what are these supplies for? Am I to take them somewhere? I think Gaius will have my head if he catches me working. I'm ready, but you know Gaius. He's only just let me out of bed not an hour past."

He couldn't contain the blasted tickle in his throat a moment longer and found himself bent over, wheezing and coughing up some ugly bit of phlegm, he thought Arthur was likely unconvinced of his work-readiness. Damn cough.

Yup. The prince's eyebrow arched and before he could blink, Arthur had him by the elbow and was steering him back to the chair as if he were a doddering old man. That said, he nearly toppled into it. Perhaps not quite ready for work then.

"No you lunkhead, you're not to deliver them somewhere. They're for you. And Gaius."

"Alright. Now I am really confused."

Arthur squatted down on his haunches with one hand on Merlin's knee. "You've come to the end of your probation Merlin. Passed it, but only just barely. You will be paid each fortnight from here on. This…" Arthur waved at the treasure of goods as if it were nothing "is your back pay."

Merlin was speechless.

And speechless did not happen to Merlin very often. Arthur's face quite clearly indicated that he was feeling uncomfortable. Embarrassed even. Trust Arthur to be embarrassed only when he did something good.

"My probation period? Forty and a half fortnights; that is the probation period? A bit of an odd number isn't it sire?'

A look of relief crossed Arthur face. Teasing was a manner of communication the prince could deal with. He clapped Merlin heartily on the shoulder and then used him to lever himself up from his crouch.

"You're right Merlin; it should have been two full years. Shall I have them bring all this back then?"

"You wouldn't!" he squawked.

"Don't test me Merlin." Arthur's face strived for serious, but after a heartbeat it cracked into a wide and boyish grin. "Get better my friend. We've a kingdom to run."

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The end.

Thank you for reading, please please leave me a review (or two or seven!) I would love to know what you thought or felt. Merry Christmas all!


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